


Say Something

by terminallyCosplay



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3260081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terminallyCosplay/pseuds/terminallyCosplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire can't stop looking at E, and as a result, starts to notice more than he may want to....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Something

You didn't realize how much you needed him around, or how much you were actually watching him. He never noticed you- really, hardly any of them did, and that suited your needs fine. You were okay with being the drunk, the cynic. His skeptic.

You honestly were okay living on the outside of his life, looking in. 

Then you weren't on the outside anymore. 

People described you a lot, yet, as time passed, you were always in some parallel to him. His satellite, his follower. He was the sun, and you were a lonely, cold, distant planet. Only when he was concerned, though. 

 

Was that why he started watching you? Or was that when you started giving your life to him?

The more your Apollo's glare was looking at you, the further you sank. Looking at him became associated with drinking. You almost wondered if he was a trigger for you, in the end. How you had done so well before, but now, there was only Enjolras. When he wasn't around, you were yourself. You were happy, light-hearted. You were gay, you were well. When he looked upon you with those deep eyes, those lips pouting down into their resting disdain, you were no longer any of these. Every curt word or disdainful sentence bruised your soul, and you came to welcome it.  

 

In the end, that was probably what turned you so cold towards him. 

 

It wasn't as if you ever denied that you loved him. You breathed his light in as he came. He was quick to words and quick to fists at times, just like Bahorel. You were the only one capable of stopping them when the two of them were in fisticuffs together. You learned then that while he may have been untrained, to go against Enjolras in a fight was just as terrible of an idea as loving him from afar was. 

The further you watched him, the further you sank. 

 

In the end, your words towards him turned bitter, you started to antagonize him. He was Apollo, he was your angel, he was your Valkyrie. He was your general, your leader, your chief. He was your paramour, at least inside your own heart. You lived only for him now, it seemed. Getting closer to him had its price though. You wondered if you would have started at all, if you knew the cost of this great romance. In loving Enjolras, you started to really notice Enjolras. Noticing the reality of Enjolras was what the price was. 

 

Moods of sullen quiet. 

Unable to speak. 

Looking distraught. 

Anger. 

The inability to continue on with himself. 

Him going off, alone. 

Always alone. 

 Why was he always off on his own? 

 

He remembered him, full of fire and anger, going strong, then suddenly, becoming so quiet. He had sat down, playing with his drink as he looked at the table, shoulders hunched. Most of the others didn't notice. Combeferre did, and you were aware that Combeferre understood him far more than you did. A few quiet words, a forced smile. Enjolras had gotten up, gone out, and had stood out alone in the streets of Paris. He had gone out to the snow, and you watched him from the upper windows as he looked up at the sky. 

 

How- Why did he always look as lost as you felt? He needed to be strong, a pillar. He was a statue of marble, impossibly strong. He was impossibly perfect. Over time, however, that marble statue had started to chip and break. 

 

You learned many things about him. He was quick to anger, quick to wrath, and in time, you realized that every one of these actions were internalized. He became angry because he was incapable of voicing out the right words. He was incapable of tossing his emotions forward to achieving his goals. His imperfect goals. Why was it then that you became more harsh? The less perfect he was, the more angry you were at him. How dare he be so lofty and high. How dare he be imperfect, and act like he was still better than the rest of you. That the two of you could never be on the same plane of existence. 

You pointed out those flaws. You dashed every chance he had. You refused to let him relax around you. You had to argue against him in order to bring him down to where you were. He became more agitated, and you became more cold. You became more hopeless. He was the only thing that you believed in. He was the only thing that you cared for. You needed him to remain your statue, your Apollo. He was gone. You were lost. You sigh, and you watched him go. You always push him away. 

 

That's probably why tonight, you two are destined to break. It had been coming to a headwind, and you knew that you were going to be lost. It's a feeling that has been haunting you for weeks. He was standing in his normal place, talking, discussing. He was calling to action the specifics of what this revolution must do. 

 

"We must create jobs for the poor-" he started off. 

You cut him off before he even had a chance. His plan was so flawed! It angered you. 

"And where in a city over run with the poor will you find these jobs?"

Your own voice was harsher than you meant it to be. He looked at you, his brow knitting together. 

"There can be more jobs as we insert new money into a new economy-"

"And where is this new money coming from?" you asked, looking at him. 

His bottom lip became disdainful. 

"From the people." 

He was stoic. 

"Yet will the rich give it?" You ask of him. Would he give?

"They will see that the poor are no less than them-"

"Like you do," you ended the argument.

Your tone was angry, it was curt. It was a fact. Enjolras saw them as poor. They were a class below, this group was not a class at all. This group that you were in, they still belonged to the rich. He looks at you, and you see the anger flash briefly in his eyes. Oh, that anger. That fire. You stoke it because the passion makes him more beautiful and wild. It stirs your heart and you feel the electrical current pulse in your veins. The passion in his eyes strikes through your chest. 

 

You could see the strike hit him. His face crumpled as he sighed, and he shook his head. He opened his mouth then shut it. He stepped out of his place, and left his coat in the cafe as he left. The only goodbye was squeezing Combeferre's shoulder. You got up, numb, and all you could do was follow. The comet and the tail, the sun and the moon. You needed him. Combeferre grabbed onto you, and the silence was deafening inside the Musain that night. 

"Don't." Combeferre warned you.

You shake your head as you head out into the snow, your head reeling with thoughts.  

Enjolras, whose body couldn't stand the cold.

Enjolras, who never slept.

Enjolras, who needed those around him to watch him, guard him. 

Enjolras, who didn't know that you loved him. 

You kept an eye out as you run. Where would your star travel to in times of silence? Where would he run to?

The River. 

You were fast, and you cursed every night you spent drinking. You cursed every folly you had taken. The things that slowed you down. The day you gave up boxing and fencing. You cursed them all, you cursed yourself, you cursed God and government alike in order to catch him, wherever he was. 

 

Your heart stopped when you saw the crowd, gathered around what was obviously a hole made around a figure in the snow. You rushed over, barreling through the crowd till you found him, your fallen angel. He lay there, breathing hard. The shock made him paler than before; his eyes cold and distant. He didn't glance at you. You knelt next to him, and he swallowed, turning his gaze towards you. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

His voice was barely there. Your heart seizes up. 

You find his hand, trying to figure out what was wrong. 

"You need to get out of the ice and snow," you tell him. "Your body-"

He laughed lightly. 

"You knew?" he asked, looking up at you. His body was shaking and his lips were turning blue. 

"I always knew," you tell him. 

You help him to his feet, and as he tries to stand, he collapses against you. He's cold. He's far too cold and your heart is hammering because he is against you. He is perfect and it's like he's been cut from stone. 

Your Apollo. 

"What happened?" you ask. 

He let himself laugh, leaning on you. You support his weight easily. 

"I slipped on the ice. I was heading towards-"

"The river," you breathe out. 

"Grantaire....R..." he corrects himself, and you feel your heart skip a beat. "I know that you see me as young, foolish, naive. I know that I'm not what you want as a leader-" he told you.

You shake your head, scooping him up. He lets out a disgruntled noise as he grips onto you. 

"I'm fine," he told you.

"Sh. You're hurt and you're stubborn. You're going back to Joly," you tell him. 

"Thank you, R."

You let out a sigh.

"Anything for you, Apollo," you tell him, earning a smack on your head.

 

It was well worth the price.  

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, I wrote this with the song "Say Something" Playing in the background on repeat. By the end, I was not ok. Just a quick one-shot that may be expanded on later. If you like it, let me know and I'll try to continue it on!


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